


Blood Through Stone

by tristesses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Bondage, F/F, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Blood calls to blood, sister, and flesh to flesh. Give me something to treasure; give me something to remember you by."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Through Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 7/13/2008.

_In Narcissa’s first memory, she’s crouched on her bed, crying, the curtains on her stately windows shut tight and silencing charms on her doorway. Her brain is pounding against the sides of her skull in an attempt to break free; even in the near-dark, spots are flickering before her eyes like raindrops on a windowpane. The child’s-strength headache potions aren’t working, and so she’s barricaded herself here in the hopes that no one will barge in on her and make her situation worse._

 _Of course, someone does, and that someone is Bellatrix: brash, belligerent, precocious, and all of eight years old. Even at eight, though, she understands pain. Usually she’s causing it, although not today._

 _“Cissy,” she whispers, sitting at the edge of the bed, angling her narrow body toward the blonde. “Are you all right?”_

 _Narcissa moans and turns toward the wall. No, she thinks, with all the whininess of any four-year-old with a headache. Fix it! Fix it now!_

 _There’s a pause, and the bed creaks as Bellatrix climbs further into it, curving her body around her sister, holding her in her arms._

 _“It’ll pass,” she says soothingly, voice softer than Narcissa’s ever heard it. “Just sleep, Cissy.”_

 _Narcissa’s not a trustful person by nature, but at that reassurance she allows herself to go limp. She shuts her eyes to the tunnel vision, rapidly crawling to the center of her gaze._

-

Narcissa opened her eyes. The halls of Azkaban stretched out before her, menacing and dark, the dementors floating along the corridors like phantoms. Her guide’s frog patronus hopped steadily in a circle around them, leaving a silver trail of dust.

“It’s like tunnel vision,” she murmured softly, and the Auror turned to look at her.

“What?”

Narcissa examined him minutely; young but relatively experienced, strong enough to create a patronus to withstand the dementors, but soft inside. Weak. A Mudblood.

She had enough self control to keep her lip from curling in distaste. “Nothing.”

He nodded shortly, although kept a watchful eye on her as he gestured down the corridor. “Shall we?”

Their echoing steps drowned out the muted cries of other prisoners, poor souls caught and incarcerated for serving the Dark Lord. Fools, some of them, for allowing themselves to be caught, for allowing themselves to be demeaned. Her sister would never stand for it.

Her sister –

No. Narcissa would not let this thought break her glacial composure. She was unsettling the guide already with her seeming immunity to the dementors; she couldn’t lose the upper hand. Let her break down in the safety of the cell, with no one to watch but the stones and the cold stare of the one she came to see.

“Here it is,” said the guard, shifting from one foot to the other, his spotty face gleaming with a nervous sheen. “Er, I’ll need to confiscate your wand.”

“Shouldn’t you have done that before I came in?” she asked quietly, watching his face for signs of unease. It was there, flickering and doubtful.

“Well – I – no,” he stammered, then flushed and said, a little harsher than he intended, “Your wand, madam.”

She relinquished the weapon with icy calm, and pretended not to notice his trembling hand as he unlocked the cell door with a complex incantation.

“Thirty minutes,” he said.

“That’s more than suitable,” she replied, and swept past him into the cell. The door clanged shut.

Narcissa stood facing the wall opposite the person chained to the stone. She wasn’t sure if she could look at those eyes, grim and accusing. She wasn’t sure if she could stay composed.

The silence broke after a moment; Narcissa always was better at waiting games than her sister.

“Cissy,” Bellatrix drawled. “Decided to drop by, did you? See what you were missing?”

“I came to see you, Bella,” she said stiffly. “And to – apologize – ”

“Apologize?” The voice was positively frigid now, anger pulsing quietly beneath the surface. “For what, my dear sister? For abandoning our Lord when he needed us the most? For selling the Black family pride to save that sniveling brat – and your child, too?”

“Don’t say that,” Narcissa snapped. “I have not sold out the family honor any more than you have, Bellatrix.”

A hoarse laugh. “Have I? I would have said I was defending it, from the stench of Mudbloods and blood traitors.”

“You shamed it,” Narcissa said steadily. “By getting caught. A true Black would have schemed her way out, Bellatrix.”

“Like you?” Disdainfully.

“Yes.” It’s true, she reassured herself. It was your only choice.

“Look at me, Narcissa.”

“Why?”

“Are you afraid?”

That rankled. Narcissa was not afraid, or if she was, she never showed it. And she wouldn’t start now, even to her sister. She spun on her heel, the jerkiness behind the gesture belying her anger.

Bellatrix was handcuffed against the wall, dressed in a prison shroud, her dark hair tangled and lank, a mockery of its former glory. Already she had the sunken look of an Azkaban prisoner, the skin stretched too tightly across her cheekbones and her heavy-lidded eyes more exhausted than contemptuous.

“You look lovely, Bellatrix,” Narcissa said, injecting a tone of poison sweetness. “I do adore what you’ve done with your hair.”

“You’re a foolish cunt,” Bellatrix whispered. “Why are you here?”

Narcissa did not like to admit weakness.

“I missed you.”

“Oh?” Bellatrix cocked her head, giving her the look of a demented hawk. “Did you miss me, or did you miss our late night talks?”

“Both,” she admitted. “How is Rodolphus? Have you seen him?”

“I have, and as well as can be expected,” Bellatrix replied, relaxing now that Narcissa had dropped her chilly demeanor. “He is not holding up well to the dementors.” Her smile grew vicious. “He is weak.”

“You said you wanted that in a husband.”

“Well,” said Bellatrix, “I wanted a husband who would stay out of my way. Rodolphus didn’t do that.” She jangled her chains. “Obviously.”

She eyed her sister for a moment, taking in the razor-straight posture and the smooth blonde hair. Combined with her ice-blue robes and grey eyes, she made a pretty picture, and one very out of place in the sinister cell.

“And Lucius?” she asked, as innocently as she could. “Is he still behaving like the coward I said he was?”

Narcissa flinched, just slightly, just enough for Bellatrix to see she’d landed a blow.

“He is, isn’t he?” Her voice was full of malicious delight. “Charming. I bet little Draco will grow up to be his father’s son.”

Narcissa took a sudden step forward, bringing her face and steely glare close to Bellatrix.

“Don’t say that about my son,” she hissed. “Say what you like about Lucius, but my son bears the same blood that runs in my veins. The same blood that runs in yours.”

Bellatrix cackled. “I should hope so. Otherwise I’d have to ask Lucius what he’s been doing on his off nights!”

Narcissa crushed her lips against Bellatrix’s, more in an attempt to shut her up than a true kiss, but Bellatrix took advantage of the opportunity and caught hold of Narcissa’s lower lip between her teeth. She toyed with it for a moment, then bit. Narcissa yelped and jerked back, blood glistening on her chin.

“Blood calls to blood, sister,” Bellatrix whispered throatily, “and like to like. Come, give me something to remember you by. Give me something to treasure!”

Narcissa’s lips met hers again, nibbling and licking, and the metallic taste of blood mingled with the saliva and tears from her sister’s eyes.

“Oh, Cissa,” Bellatrix breathed. “Crying again?”

“Second time,” she whispered, resting her forehead against her sister’s. “In front of you, at least.”

“Second time ever. I’d bet my life on it.”

Narcissa laughed a choked, wild laugh. “But who would gamble for this?” She indicated the cell with a sweep of her hand.

“You would, love,” Bellatrix said. “If you could, you would save me.”

Narcissa regarded her from underneath lowered lids. “Would I?”

“Oh, yes,” Bellatrix said. Her voice was falling into a lilting pattern, seductive and controlling. “You would sell your soul for my release. You always would.”

“Even when I was a little girl…” Narcissa’s lips barely moved. She was still, looking at Bellatrix, spellbound.

“Of course you would,” whispered Bellatrix. The cold shackles around her wrists cut deeper into flesh, and she shivered at the exquisite pain. “I am your sister, your confidante, your lover. The only one you can ever trust…”

“The only one you can trust…”

“The only one I allow to touch me…”

Narcissa’s hand wound in her hair and yanked it back, smacking Bellatrix’s head against the stone. She screamed, a primal sound, and darted back with her teeth to catch Narcissa’s arm. The blonde was already out of reach, laughing with derision.

“You dare – ” Bellatrix, nearly incoherent with rage, snapped her teeth at her sister and lunged against the chains. They screeched out a rusty protest and snapped her back into place.

Narcissa strode forward, grabbed her sister’s wrists, and shoved her against the wall, kissing her with violence and lust. Bellatrix writhed, trapped. Narcissa’s teeth left marks in her white skin.

“Lovely,” she gasped. “You’ve always been so lovely.” She slipped Bellatrix’s prison shroud down from around her shoulders, dismissing the other woman’s protests, running her nails along the exposed flesh.

“You know, sister,” she said conversationally as Bellatrix hissed and struggled, “if you hadn’t lost so much muscle from these past two weeks I would never have been able to do this.”

“You bitch!” hissed Bellatrix, voice sizzling with hate, “you Mudblood bitch how dare you do this to me –”

Narcissa’s tongue curved around her nipple and Bellatrix cut herself off. Nipping, suckling, Narcissa made her way across Bella’s stomach and thighs, nails leaving red rivets of welted flesh on her back and buttocks. Bellatrix trembled, shied away from the touch, restrained by the handcuffs.

For a moment Narcissa nuzzled the wiry curls at her sister’s core, then with a decisive, practiced hand pushed Bellatrix’s thighs apart and slid her fingers inside her.

Bella keened, a sound that had Narcissa’s pulse suddenly locate itself in her groin. She stroked the wet flesh lightly, found the tight nub and rolled it between her fingers. Bellatrix was shaking now, hands above her head, completely out of control and lost. Narcissa smiled at her, a cruel smile, and lowered her head to her sister’s cunt.

Bellatrix tossed her head back at the sensation and smacked it against the stone again. The world jarred out of focus, but she was keenly aware of the spiraling shivers echoing up her spine, brought on by Narcissa’s agile hands and lips. Her breath was coming unevenly, eyes unseeing and fixed on the ceiling, hands involuntarily clenching into fists above her head. Dizzy, she hissed out moans and grunts as her hips pitched forward, sharp and bony, and she clamped her thighs tight together as her legs gave out and her eyes rolled back in her head.

By the time Bellatrix came back to herself fully, Narcissa was on her feet and as composed as ever, licking her hand clean and wiping it on the edge of her robes before looking up at Bellatrix again.

“You’re sweaty,” she noted.

“No,” Bellatrix sneered, “I hadn’t noticed.”

Narcissa gave a half smile. “No need to be mean.”

Bellatrix hung there, naked and furious, scratched and bleeding. She was for once rendered wordless. Narcissa was the only one who had ever had that effect on her.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then,” she said eventually, when it became clear Narcissa wasn’t going to speak.

“Yes,” the blonde said calmly, “I suppose it is.” Bellatrix saw a flame of despair flicker in her eyes before it died.

Bellatrix eyed her sister for another moment, then turned her head away and grew inert. Her cheek was pressed to the cold stone; she could feel the dementors on the other side of the wall. She wondered how long she’d stay sane.

Narcissa’s hand touched her cheek, gently; she didn’t respond. It lingered. Finally:

“Love you, Bella,” she whispered. Bellatrix could hear the tears in her throat. The door banged shut, a final slamming that was worse, somehow, than the toll of a death bell. She shut her eyes, and conjured up the image of the Dark Lord in her mind. That, and one last encounter with her sister, was all she had left. She would wield them as defenses until her mind gave out. Blacks did not surrender easily.

Outside, Narcissa mutely straightened her hair and robes, retrieved her wand, exited the Ministry, and Apparated to Malfoy Manor. She felt slightly sick, as if she was on a slowly sinking ship that was going down and leaving her hovering. No ground, no solidness beneath her feet. She was lost.

She had one hell of a headache.


End file.
